


How to Get Away with Murder

by wouldgraham



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Dark Will Graham, Eventual Smut, Gen Difference, Gore, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal is 54, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Murder Kink, Older Man/Younger Man, Power Play, Semi-Necrophilia, Vore, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is 19, Young Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldgraham/pseuds/wouldgraham
Summary: Prof. Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a renowned writer who lectures about pathological behaviour. Will Graham is an undergraduate studying to become a profiler. Later, he found out that Dr. Lecter doesn’t only teach how murders work, but also how to get away with it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	How to Get Away with Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I deleted this fic before (I was scared because of the fandom climate) but now it's back up and now I'm going to finish it. This will be updated in at least three parts.

Young Will Graham had always had a crude curiosity towards homicide in general, but his reasoning would rather be trivial regarding this enggrossment. Had it been because he thought it was merely fashionable, such attraction was actually quaint, as people say there shouldn’t be anything honorable regarding manslaughter. Will was aware of this matter, hence he relished in the feeling of catching them—or so, he thought. Retribution sounded just right to him, but it still didn’t disregard his thirst of rationalistic knowledge that he specifically took pleasure in studying the killers’ minds.

Through these reasons, why Will excelled in his studies of Criminal Justice, especially on psychology would be explainable. His professors had acknowledged his excellence, and they had taken an interest in mentoring Will Graham ever since his first year in the University of Baltimore. However, Mr. Graham’s manner of building fortresses around him was too keen, thus they knew they’d have their troubles on approaching the boy. 

When the clock on Will’s wristwatch struck two and half an hour that afternoon, he descended from the back row of the lecture hall where he had sat, listening to Prof. Jack Crawford's elaboration on a certain female's death. She was a victim of strangulation, said also impaled upon a stag's antlers, then put on display in a field. They said that it was the same killer as Elise Nichols'; but was it, really?

Will was unsure of his judgement, and he pondered still as he went to pass by Prof. Crawford, when he was suddenly called by a nudge on his shoulder by the professor himself.

"Can you spare me a minute, Will? There is somebody I'd like you to meet."

Prof. Crawford was tidying the papers laid over his desk—his lecture materials—and Will decided to wait as he turned his back to face the professor and stood by. The other students had gradually escaped the dull, monotonous lecture hall and scrambled to the hallway, leaving only Will and his criminology professor. 

His quick wit informed him that this probably would just be another scenario where he would be introduced to someone who had shown an interest to take him under their wing. Will may not have stated it before, but he was not up to protégé under someone. However, out of formality and deference due to his standing, Will decided to oblige.

"Alright," he said, his hands gripping the brown leather strap of his backpack, fixating.

Once Prof. Crawford had done tidying his papers and slid it back inside his map, he got out of his seat and led Will outside the hallway. They both were the last ones to walk out the lecture hall, so it had gotten pretty quiet either. Perhaps only some slack students chatting here and there.

"Where are we going?" His footsteps were upkept to Prof. Crawford's, following him from behind. University of Baltimore, in fact, can be relatively expansive; Will wondered where would this rendezvous take place. Not that he would mind much depending on its location. He just liked to know things.

"My office," his professor answered. They walked through the classrooms to the end of the hallway, and took the stairs to the upper floor.

"I was surprised you hadn't had someone to mentor you yet, Will," Jack opened the conversation again. "You should have taken such an opportunity to hone your savvy. Raw knowledge won’t get you anywhere these days,” he humoured.

Such a lecture wasn’t something he had never gotten before. Despite his nature, on the other hand, he was also pretty sure that he would have his future secured by grades and obligatory practical years alone.

Will shrugged, “Certainly you must’ve mistaken me as a pompous personality. The truth is, Prof. Crawford, I hope that you could understand that I am not  _ yet _ compassionate towards my own ability to be able to pursue under someone.”

It was true. Being a teenager, his self-esteem had its own obstacles to shine—and to probe within it would be too personal even for himself to do. Will had this premonition where he thought he would rather be a burden to someone, unable to keep up with their insights, or that their mind would work the opposite ways upon one certain debatable matter, afraid to be labeled as opinionated and pontifical as he knew his mind would always work differently. He can be stubborn sometimes, he'd admit.

Will had not looked forward to whoever was behind the menacing, oakwood door of Prof. Crawford's office when they arrived before it. Prof. Crawford rested his hand on the door handle as he gave Will his reassuring glance, telling him, "I understand your worries, Will. However, I must insist that I think you would fit to be a protégé under this man."

His eyebrows arched up, in full interest of his professor's surmise. Clearly he wasn't actually expecting, let alone be prepared about what would be served before his vision when his professor pushed open the door of his office—there relishing his sight a refined man in his fifties, sitting with his back somehow cold towards the intrusion of their arrival.

He was older than Prof. Crawford, and although not a lot, it was visibly obvious for Will to read that this man would have such a sophisticated personality based on how he dressed. He was wearing a plain dark blue suit with a plaid white shirt below it. His tie, red as deep velvet, decorated in stripes, worn around his neck, emphasizing his stern dark glance when he turned to greet Will and his professor with his high cheekbones and his slight wrinkles.

It was that moment when Will realised that he should have recognised the face before. This was Dr. Hannibal Lecter, whose visage everyone should have unmistakably seen on the back of their psychology textbooks. However, it wasn't only that, but Will had been reading his other non-mandatory book as well.

Will licked his lips before he eventually stepped in the office. Prof. Crawford closed the door behind him, and Will stood by there—his brain seemingly trying to muster up a proper, polite reaction, when he eventually greeted the man with a closely unequivocal voice, "Dr. Lecter."

"Sorry for the wait, Dr. Lecter. Sit down, Will," Prof. Crawford reminded him, gesturing to the leather chair beside Dr. Lecter.

He saw Dr. Lecter smiled at him, whence it wrinkled the corners of his eyes. It relaxed Will a bit to know that Dr. Lecter did at least try to make him feel comfortable. It was sort of distracting, however. He was never actually fond of eye contact.

"And this is…?" Dr. Lecter expressed his wonder as Will sat down beside him.

"This is Will Graham. Will, you seem to already know, but this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Will is one of my prominent students here, and he's been reading your book a lot. I was thinking to maybe introduce the two of you and see if Will here is up to protégé under someone. Especially you, Dr. Lecter."

Will pushed up the glasses framing his stare, which he took much effort in to avert from any of these two professionals. As much as he despised eye contact, he didn't really find the professors speaking on his behalf assuaging, for the most part when he was present right there.

Before he heard a response from the man beside him, he intervened and stood up to himself. "This is not going to change my mind," Will argued.

If Prof. Crawford thought that bringing the person he actually looked up to into this would make him feel encouraged to be willing, then he must try harder than that. Prof. Crawford's expression darkened. Will understood that he would yet again disappoint his teacher, but that apparently hadn't stopped him from being upfront.

Dr. Lecter eyed him, scrutinized as those lids narrowed.

"Not fond of social attachment, are you?" He spoke up, which unsurprisingly had successfully garnered the attention of the younger man.

Will's eyebrows twitched, visibly uncomfortable with the fact that Dr. Lecter just laid him by like that.

"Do not psychoanalyze me,"  _ you won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed _ , he wanted to add, but reckoned immediately that it would be extremely rude for their first meeting. After all, he still cared about his reputation—how bit may it be.

“Will,” Prof. Crawford warned him, feeling the uneasy tension his student emitted, unpleasant as it was out of his control to prevent.

Dr. Lecter’s severely coiffed hair was brown, close to golden even, but he sure had some visible white strands here and there as well. He was a cultivated man, indeed, worldly-wise due to his age. Will surmised he must have had much experience dealing with people who struggle in involving themselves on even the most cardinal matter.

“I know you know that I am actually not looking to mentor someone right now, Jack,” he took away his attention from Will. The velvet tail of his eyes still stole glances from the seat less five inches away from himself, however, before he went back to his colleague, stared infinitely keen and resourceful.

Trying to be subtle with his distaste, he continued, “And I believe that you’re also au courant with my penchants,” at the same time making sure that such revulsion was also delivered in clarity.

Will Graham had not appealed to him, but he might also have. It wasn't because of his look, not at all, but the mannerism through his wording which he had displayed. He was an impudent boy. Frankly speaking, the unkempt curls and unruly plaid flannels the boy was wearing was rather unfortunate and certainly had not helped him in scoring a good impression either. Despite his tendencies to spend on only the notorious, Hannibal also desired to purely mold something on his own.

The boy was raw, a rough diamond somebody apparently had dug for him to treasure.

In the littlest seconds, before the boy bared his audacity once again, Hannibal proclaimed, "Yet I also truly do not mind if you decide to let me deal with Mr. Graham with my own ways. I see that he is indeed in need of some advice from someone qualified."

Jack sighed, as if he had already known how the boy would stubbornly respond as ever.

"And here I thought you'd be inclined to participate in the mentorship program when I specifically invited Dr. Lecter for you, Will. You know that it's within my power to sign you up without your consent," sitting down on his chair, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Last question: yes or no, then let's be done with it."

Will noticed the exhaustion through the long stares of his professor. His lips suddenly glued tight to each other, rough saliva swallowed down his dry throat.

_ No _ , he wanted to say. Yet it was also true that he had been wanting to learn more from Dr. Lecter—the man was renowned for obvious reasons in the fields he majored in. Clearly other people would kill to be in his place, offered this chance where they just had to say one single  _ yes _ .

Hesitant to spit out his answer this time, Will took a short moment of silence.

His confusion was readable, so did his olfactible hesitation for Hannibal. Hence, he uttered, slightly hoping if his small remark would even make the boy's mind up more.

"Perhaps it is not mentorship you require, Will."

"What do you mean?" The boy turned his head in instant, his brows furrowed in confusion but also curiosity to hear the elaboration of such presumption.

However unforeseen the discernment might be, it was no surmise. Hannibal could perceive Will's yearning to indulge in the idea, and how afraid he was to.

Hence, the suggestion.

"You needed therapy," he said. "You know, Will, you worry too much. As your mentor, if I am about to be that, I would also oblige myself to provide you support both emotionally and spiritually. I see your lackluster self-esteem has concerned you too much. We can try fixing that first."

Ignoring the boy's beforehand protest to not psychoanalyze him, Hannibal decided these assessments were necessary for his growth.

The sounds he made next was almost like nobody had ever laid himself bare like this. Hannibal reputed such valuation has led the boy to think that such a foible would be harmless towards nobody, yet failed to consider his own virtue.

Will seemed to give up on questioning his observation. He was annoyed, for sure, but more because he had been ashamed to publicly admit what Dr. Lecter had spitted out. He tried hiding his face, head down in defeat. Couldn't stay longer than two seconds, though.

It wouldn't have been easy to tame a brat, and Hannibal should have been aware of that. The talk-backs.

"Are you applying to be my mentor or therapist, then?"

"It can be both," he clarified.

The idea wasn't new, but it wasn't something you'd usually get from someone who had already had his knowledge and experience to offer to you. Will eyed Jack, wanting to see his professor's reaction, and found that he seemed totally neutral to this matter. Leaving it between the two involving parties would be better, mayhaps he had thought. Nevertheless, he'd still break up the uncomfortable silence and add in his as-expected suggestion, implying that he's not against the proposal at all.

"You should try, Will."

"And we can also get to know each other better, llin case you would be uncomfortable with the mentorship term we were supposed to use."

The hesitation was still there, but Will had also found the proposition intriguing. Unlike Alana Bloom, his psychology professor who tried to make her interest sounded professional, Hannibal's words didn't sound like he was trying to mask his intentions. Will wouldn't object the idea. He did get insecure often with power dynamics the easier it would get for him to realize.

A hum, then a lull, relaxed agreement escaped Will's chords.

"Alright," he said, crossing his legs and trying to take a glimpse at his new acquaintance's face (apparently Will felt like he'd feel more comfortable referring to him as such, for now).

Dr. Lecter gave him a warm, heartfelt welcoming smile which wrinkled the corners of his eyes, yet again.

'…He's old,' is what flashed by his mind when he saw those creases. He did wonder why, but it wasn't like it was a bad thing to have either.

“Well then, I look forward to our sessions," Hannibal offered him his palm, of which Will greeted it with his own.

They shook hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/wouldgraham) if you'd like to suggest anything or would simply like to check up on the writing progress!


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